


Loinclothes Aren't That Bad

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Bunker Sex, Coda, Come play, Dungeon, Episode: s13e14 Good Intentions, M/M, Master Castiel, Master/Servant, Men of Letters Bunker, Not So Secret Kinks, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Roleplay, Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Sam Winchester is So Done, Sex, Sexual Roleplay, Shameless Smut, Smut, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 16:05:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13884336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: “Dean, how does that loincloth fit you?”“G-good.”“I’m sorry, what’s that?”Dean swallows as his pores on the hump of his throat shed more tears. “They fit well, Master.”





	Loinclothes Aren't That Bad

**Author's Note:**

> So this came *heh* about after last episode when I was trying to figure out WHY there was a camera in the torture dungeon. And I will only accept what follows as an answer. (Especially after seeing Cas get so riled up after the Donatello situation! Top!Cas is alive and well, everyone.)

_"Soon."_

  
Dean adjusts the collar of his flannel to hide the goosebumps creeping up his neck like a stone walkway leading to a starved garden. Cas's low, sultry voice is the water, sunlight, and air to Dean's wilting flowers.   
  
But those things are temporary. Cas is next to him one moment, head perched on Dean's shoulder like a corrupted angelic compass, and then he’s gone—along with the air from Dean’s throat.  
  
"Dean? Everything okay?"  
  
Great, just what he needs: his little brother asking if he’s okay while the stick shift in his jeans is stuck in fifth gear. "Yeah… no. I mean—"  
  
"Why're you still watching the dungeon camera?" Sam asks, somehow sneaking behind him as a six-foot ridiculous-inch tall man. "Since Donatello... you know."  
  
"I know, um... I'm just about to close it, actually." He makes sure not to make a big scene doing so, as not to prompt 20 _More_ Uncomfortable Questions from Sam. He was bad enough as a kid.  
  
"Where're you going?"  
  
Dean eyes scrunch shut. He stops in his too-haste trek upstairs and turns around. "You know... upstairs. Since the stairs take me in that general direction.”  
  
Sam drops his head with a mild bitch face.  
  
"Okay, I was watching some Busty Asian Beauties before you came in, and now I've gotta take care of some _downstairs_ business. You happy? Should I bring back pictures?"  
  
Sam holds up a hand. "No, I—just, you win, go. _Don't_ use my towels!"  
  
Dean grins at the statement. On a normal day, he _would_ use Sam’s towels—unprompted. But he already has a purpose in mind for his own.

 

 

Cas purposely takes his time closing the large, steel door behind him. He knows what it does to Dean. He knows the more he draws out that rusty high-pitched squeal, the more Dean squirms. And as much as he hates to see Dean in pain—especially after Donatello’s stunt—he loves to see his face twisted with sin, his pores drowning in his sweaty sheen as he whispers Cas’s name. Especially when he’s bound, hands desperate to touch anything but the knotted nylon keeping them apart. He’s practically shaking when Cas approaches him. Cas wonders how long he’s been standing like this, eagerly awaiting his return.

Cas hates seeing Dean in pain, but he also looks too beautiful to satisfy too soon.

Then again, it is a _torture_ dungeon.

“Dean, how does that loincloth fit you?”

“G-good.”

“I’m sorry, what’s that?”

Dean swallows as his pores on the hump of his throat shed more tears. “They fit well, Master.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

Cas shrugs out of his trenchcoat and sets it on the table behind Dean. Then he puts his own hands behind his back and starts circling Dean the way a hawk would his prey, and boy, does Dean look like a feast. Especially with the ripped beige cloth around his waist to top off what’s every tanned, exposed, and gleaming inch of him. “Is it to your liking, Master?”

“Hmm, I _was_ going to say yes and fuck you senseless…” Cas sighs for emphasis as he stops in front of Dean. ‘But now, since you spoke out of turn, I’m going to have to teach you a lesson in manners. Turn around and bend over the table.”

Cas can see the outline of his cock against the loincloth, proving his thick, heavy weight as he moves. It probably won’t feel any less so against the steel table, but that’s what he gets when he disobeys.

“Spread your legs. Wait until I tell you to stop.”

Dean stretches his legs, moaning quietly as he goes. Cas waits until Dean’s leaning his upper body against the table, and the thin backing of his cloth is covering Cas’s own personal slice of Heaven: the equally thin line separating his two perfectly rounded and exposed cheeks, to say when.

Cas starts undoing his belt. Everything about the action is slow. He makes sure Dean hears every noise his belt makes, from it exiting the loop hole to the soft clank of it on the tile. He caresses the button on his slacks with his thumb before unhooking it. He pinches his zipper and pulls it down tooth by tooth. He drags the waistband of his boxers under his similarly hard cock.

Using one hand to grip himself, Cas uses the other to lift Dean’s loincloth. Only, instead of entering him right away, he nudges Dean’s hole with his head, dragging precum across it. Dean whimpers. His fingers dig into his palms to make chalk-white fists. Goosebumps appear along his legs. He keeps doing it until Dean’s repeating the same actions three times without hesitation. “Have you had enough, Dean?”

Dean replies with silence. He knows if he speaks up, whether he says yes or no, he’ll be reprimanded again, and this will only draw out longer. So Cas nods before sneaking two fingers into Dean’s entrance. Dean bucks into the table so hard, it echoes across the chambers. Cas doesn’t have to see him to know he’s biting back a moan the size of Kansas. Dean’s more composed when the third and fourth fingers go in, and Cas grins to himself. He loves how well he’s trained him. “Alright, Dean, since you’ve been a good boy,” he says, slipping his fingers out to replace it with the head of his cock. “I want to hear you _scream.”_

With that, he slams into Dean, earning him a long, drawn-out cry from the man. Cas doesn’t need food or sleep when he’s at full power, but by God, _this_ sound—this raw cover of “Ode to Joy”—is what he needs. There’s nothing that fulfills him more than filling Dean.

“So, loincloths…” Cas says later in the bathroom as he’s cleaning them off.

“I was gonna ask you the same.”

Cas blushes. “I guess we both have a lot to learn about ourselves.”

“It’s a good thing the day’s still young.”

Cas looks up to find Dean grinning and can’t help his own lips turning up.

 

 

Sam isn’t sure how long he’s been sitting in the library with the laptop shut. All he knows is he’ll never unsee the image reflecting in his retinas every time he blinks from now forward.

And that he’s _never_ going into the dungeon again.

 


End file.
